Seven Iron
by thisiseveryshadeofwrong
Summary: Set pre-show. Two shot, outlining the circumstances in which Ducky and Gibbs may have met and exploring two of the ex-wives. Disclaimer inside.  Sort of a character study, much dialogue.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is set before the show begins, obviously. I was basically going off what I knew about Gibbs' wives, and my info could be faulty seeing as I've only seen up to season 4. The ex-wife that hit him with the seven iron was (I believe) number 2 (excluding Shannon as an ex). DON'T OWN :( TPTB are the lucky owners of this show.  
**

"So, young man, who was the inflictor of the damage to your head?"

Dr Mallard stands at the end of the hospital bed, quietly studying the man before him.

_His hair is cut high and tight – obviously a military man. High pain tolerance as displayed by his 'walking' into a navy hospital with a profusely bleeding head wound. But there's something else._

"My wife."

_Oh dear._

"Why? Whatever for?"

The man glances out of the window to the hallway quickly, and then looks back.

"Can I leave, soon? I have to get back to work."

"Not quite yet," Ducky checks the patients chart. "Leroy."

"Gibbs. Only my father calls my Leroy."

"Isn't there something else I can address you by that's a little less, well, distant?"

"…Jethro?"

"A middle name?"

"Mhmm."

The room falls into silence yet again, save for the steady beeping of the monitors.

"When can I leave?"

"After you advise me with what you were hit by, and why."

"A seven iron."

"The golf club?"

"Yep."

"I see. And the reason?" The doctors pen scribbles for a second and comes back to a rest.

"Don't know, ask her."

"Come on now, Jethro. You must know the reason."

"Even if I did, would I tell you?"

"I quite doubt it."

And so the good doctor checks the patient's health and sets out a stringent set of guidelines regarding the intake of a certain drink, or many (because he knows how these military men drink). Against his better wishes, the patient is discharged before the day is over, although sooner to tomorrow than today.

He leaves a note;

_Dr Mallard,_

_ Thankyou, but I still won't tell._

And a number. For a moment, the doctor wonders why, but his ponderings of the inexplicable nature of this man's gesture are answered by the words below;

_Because this will probably happen again, sooner rather than later._

The doctor smiles, somewhat, copies down the number into the chart and collects the note, leaving for the night. With a backward glance to the room, briefly occupied by a certain Leroy Jethro Gibbs, he chuckles and strolls through the doors.

_He certainly is a man of few words._

**R&R please. :3**


	2. Baseball Bat

Years later, and a friendship developed through dual jobs held at NCIS, Donald 'Ducky' Mallard is called late at night (or very early in the morning).

"Mallard residence," he says in a prim and proper voice, as he's been taught from his years in Great Britain. Even as he says it though, he knows only one person would call at this hour with a clear disregard for sleep.

"Duck,"

"Jethro, really. This is late, even for you."

"Duck, she hit me with a baseball bat. A fucking baseball bat."

"Can you drive?"

"I can crash, if that's what you want."

"Give me a moment."

"I'll be waiting."

Ducky puts the phone down and rushes out to the car, only stopping to check that his mother is asleep. He shuts the door firmly, and walks out towards his car. Stepping into the driver's seat of the vintage Morgan (with its steering on the wrong side for these American roads), he sets off at a pace towards Gibbs' house. When he arrives to the scene, Gibbs is sitting outside on the porch, his head in his hands and the door behind him slightly ajar due to the large crack running down the length.

"Jethro, whatever are you doing outside?"

"…Wake myself up…"

"My dear friend, there are much easier ways to prevent yourself from falling into sleep after a possible concussion."

"But this _is_ the easiest. You gonna help or not?" Gibbs is pulling himself to his feet, wincing as he moves his head and his arm.

"I thought you said she hit your head with a baseball bat, not your arm."

"I said she hit me. I didn't mention where or how many times, Duck. I blocked the first one."

"So she struck again?"

"Guess so."

Seated at the table, Ducky assesses the condition of Gibbs, noting the drowsiness and slurring of words.

"You _cannot_ sleep Jethro, not in this condition. You have a severe concussion.

"Tell me something I don't know."

"I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to admit you."

"C'mon Duck, it can't be that bad."

"Can you remember what caused the argument?"

"No, but that's beside the point."

"What is the date today?"

"…"

"…"

"…No. Hospital."

"What of observation then?"

"You have eyes – sit here and make sure I don't die, that's all."

"Jethro, you need to fix this problem."

"A concussion? I have just click my fingers!"

"No, your wives habits of hitting you with sporting items in a belligerent fashion."

"…We're getting a divorce."

"Oh."

"Mhmm."

The next day, Ducky wakes up having spent the night slumped at the kitchen table. Gibbs, he assumes, is in the basement. So he ventures downstairs and sees him – a glass of bourbon and a photo on the bench beside him, and a letter in his hand.

"Jethro?"

Quickly, his head flicks up and wincing, he rubs the large bump forming. Drinking down the bourbon, he grabs the picture and stands up. The letter drops to the floor, forgotten. Turning to go up the stairs, Gibbs pauses, picks up another letter and looks to Ducky.

"I'm going to work now. Don't bother locking the door, she'll be back for her stuff later.

"Jethro, you are a puzzling man."

With a sad smile, Gibbs jogs up the stairs and past Ducky, closing the basement door behind him. Ducky slowly descends the stairs and moves towards the letter, picking it up. He turns it over and reads;

_Dear Jethro, _

_ Sorry._


End file.
